Serendipity
by Eirina
Summary: Three years after the war, a lonely Hermione revisits Flourish and Blotts, and is surprised to find out the identity of the new librarian. DMHG AU Two-shot


**Summary- Three years after the war, a lonely Hermione revisits Flourish and Blotts, and is surprised to find out the identity of the new librarian.**

**A/N This is a two-shot I've been working on for a while. Thanks to Krissy (KCI47) for beta-ing it.**

**R&R Please! **

**Serendipity/ Noun**

**1- The faculty of making fortunate discoveries by accident.**

**2- The fact or occurrence of such discoveries.**

**3- Good luck; Fortune**

**Synonyms- blessing, dumb luck, fluke, destiny**

The bell above the door chimed as Hermione pushed it open with the toe of her shoe, lugging behind her several packages containing various gifts- including some of Harry's favourite peanut butter and strawberry ice-cream from the newly reopened Florean Fortescue's Ice cream Parlour, which of course was no longer owned by Florean Fortescue himself, bless his soul.

She paused amongst the onslaught of early Christmas shoppers, trying to figure out where to go next.

"Right, I have the satin robes for Ginny, the solid gold cauldron for Ron, the ice cream for Harry," she checked off on her fingers.

Hermione was spending Christmas at the Burrow, due to her parents' sudden trip to Russia. She hadn't seen Harry or Ron in six months, which was rather a long time considering.

They'd grown apart, and after a long time of denial Hermione could finally admit outright that they had changed.

Harry and Ginny had a baby boy already, and Ron was gallivanting off Merlin knows where with Pansy Parkinson, of all people!

And Hermione Granger was, of course, being Hermione Granger- a nonstop workaholic who often times fell asleep with her face on her paperwork.

She was currently situated as an apprentice at the Daily Prophet. Definitely not her most favoured profession- that is, running around an office building with coffee stains on her shirt- but Hermione aspired to be a writer, and what she needed was experience.

So here she was, preparing for a long awaited holiday trip to The Burrow.

Of course she had managed to forget the most important gift- one for herself.

She needed a break from work, and although she'd be spending most of her time surrounded by the Weasley brood and her two best friends, Hermione was also in desperate need of some alone time.

Well, she had two hours left anyhow to purchase the remaining gifts, so she shovelled up her packages and made her way across Diagon Alley towards Flourish and Blotts.

The familiar sounds and smells ignited her senses. She hadn't been in here in a while, even though it was only a short walk from her job.

The sudden sight of so many bookshelves filled her spirits with renewed energy.

"Hogwarts, A History!" she mumbled, sidestepping the many patrons to the little bookshop. It was her favourite book, but the last time she'd opened the pages had been in their Seventh Year. And, thanks to a rather unfortunate accident involving Crookshanks and a piece of tuna, well, her own copy of it had been destroyed two years ago.

So Hermione made her way to the same shelf she'd occupied for years before.

But as her fingers danced along the many spines of familiar, old books, her search turned up unsuccessful.

"Oh bother," she snapped, turning on her heel and going in search of someone to help her.

She was about to ask the man at the till but the poor old bookkeeper was so involved with customers she decided not to disturb him.

Hermione was about to go in search of another title when she saw what appeared to be the librarian perched on a ladder by the Romance section.

"Excuse me?" she called, shoving herself through the warm bodies in the queue

She reached the ladder and tapped the man on his leg. He was wearing black slacks and a dark blue sweater, and he seemed to be feeling the cold because his head was covered by a dark cap.

"Excuse me?" she asked again.

The librarian twisted around. "Welcome to Flourish and Blotts. How can I help you?"

Her mouth fell open rather suddenly. "Malfoy?"

He raised an eyebrow. "Granger," he replied.

Hermione had seen Malfoy on occasion when she travelled home to her little flat, and she knew he was working in Diagon Alley somewhere, but never in her life did she think she'd see Draco Malfoy- former Death Eater/bully extraordinaire- working as a librarian.

"I didn't know you worked here," she explained, shifting her packages from one arm to another.

"Yes, well." He climbed down the ladder and turned towards her again. "Need a book, I suppose?"

"Err yes. Actually I was looking for Hogwarts, A History." His lips quirked. "But it's not there," Hermione finished.

He gestured to a shelf of musty books, "It's been moved to the special offers bookshelf."

She smiled briefly, hefting her various purchases up into her arms. Now, she thought, how to get in between all these people.

"I'll get it for you, Granger," Malfoy said, and then proceeded to slip through the crowd.

Hermione leaned against the bookshelves, breathing deeply. She didn't know what surprised her most; the fact that Malfoy was fetching her something or that pieces of material and dairy products could be so heavy. And then there was the gold cauldron of course…

Malfoy's head popped out of the swarm of shoppers with the familiar old book in his hand.

"Here you go." He handed it to her "Anything else?"

She shook her head, grasping the book with the few fingers she had managed to free.

"Thank," she replied. "Merry Christmas."

"Christmas is two weeks away, Granger."

She shrugged her shoulders. "I probably won't see you before then, Malfoy." Then she gave him a brief flash of teeth before disappearing into the horde of bodies.

"Granger, you realize the big sign on the door that says 'CLOSED' means the shop is no longer available, correct?"

Well she had been wrong, disastrously wrong. There she was, standing in the ankle deep snow of Diagon Alley, on Christmas Day, when she should have been next to a fireplace with butterbeer and Ron's voice buzzing in her ear.

It had been a terrible wreck, the whole holiday. She'd arrived to find out that Ron and Pansy wouldn't be there for Christmas, because apparently she'd wanted to spend it in Paris. And then, to make matters worse, Ginny had come down with a horrible dose of stomach flu, passing it along to half the Burrow occupants, including her.

And then, the icing on the bloody cake, Harry had to start nit-picking.

"Why do you work so much, Hermione?" he had argued. "You never come and see us, hardly phone us. It's not hard to Apparate, you know?"

Well Harry, it works both ways, she had shot back.

The whole thing erupted into a series of accusations. Apparently, according to Harry, she was no longer the person he'd known, she would never get married, or even hold a serious boyfriend, maybe if she visited sometimes she might actually see Ron, and that just because she was unhappy with her own life didn't mean she could come in and ruin his.

Well the entire event ended with her disappearing through the fire place and back into her dull, lonely flat.

And so here she was, cold as the snow and just as bleak, peering at Draco Malfoy through the glass window of Flourish and Blotts.

Why on earth had she come here, anyway? Of course it was closed. She was going insane.

"Yes, Malfoy, I'm thoroughly aware of the sign." Even though she hadn't been. "I was just hoping- wait a minute," her brow furrowed, "what are _you_ doing here?"

"I work here."

"But it's Christmas. You should be with family and friends, celebrating, not sitting in a bookshop."

"Tell me, Granger, do you want to be the pot or the kettle?"

She blushed, "I have a reasonable excuse, I swear!"

"Oh?" He raised his eyebrows, "Pray tell."

"I'm starting to stick to the ground," she said awkwardly.

Malfoy held the door open and she ducked under his arm into the warm building.

He shut the door behind them and made his way back to the counter.

"So counting money," she pulled her coat off and hung it up, "can't be very interesting."

"No, but it beats organizing the back room," he countered. "So what's the reason?"

"Hmm?"

"That you're here…"  
"Oh," she sighed. "Well, it all started with Ron not pitching up, resulted in an argument with Harry and ended on the brilliantly high note of me and floo powder and a sudden disappearance and-"

"And here you are."

"And here I am." She sighed again. "Exactly."

Malfoy finished counting out the Galleons while Hermione browsed the Latest Releases section.

"Want some coffee?" he called out as he disappeared into the backroom door.

"Tea please!" she shouted back, browsing down the first page of a rather good sounding novel about a woman lost in Egypt.

"Didn't think you were the romantic type, Granger."

She put the book back on the shelf. "I'm not, actually. I didn't realize it was romance."

"Yes, it's about as fluffy as they come." Malfoy walked to the small reading quarters and pulled out a chair for her. "Apparently the heroine meets up with the King's bastard son, and it causes a big hoorah because she's American and, logistically speaking, hundreds of years his senior- time travel," he explained.

"Sounds boring."

"On the contrary, it gets pretty, err, _involved_." He smirked when her cheeks flamed, "And you're probably wondering why I read a book solely aimed at women, right? It gets rather … secluded here." He leaned back. "I try to occupy my time as much as possible."

"I'd have never thought you'd become a librarian, of all things. You hated the library at Hogwarts."

He frowned slightly, turning his head to gaze at the snow falling rapidly onto the ground.  
"We've all changed."

"No, I haven't," she replied. "It seems like everyone has grown up and found a niche and a career and a life and here I am, exactly the same as I was three years ago, trudging through life without a single thing accomplished." She ran her fingers through her hair. "It's as if everything I set out to do back then just ran into a dark, deserted corner of my mind and stayed there, untouched."

The sudden shrieking of the kettle shook her from her reverie.

When Malfoy went about making their drinks Hermione wondered why on earth she was opening up to him.

When they'd graduated they hadn't been best buddies, true enough, but they had parted on cordial terms, each accepting the other as much as they could. And although Hermione would probably never forgive some of the things he'd done, ridiculing her throughout her teenage life, letting his mad aunt torture her into unbelievable pain, allowing Dumbledore to die, Hermione had let the old grudges go.

But still, it wasn't as if he was her confidante. So why was she telling him all this?

Maybe it was just the comfort and familiarity of Flourish and Blotts, or that he was the only human being currently available that she could vent to. And boy, after her so called break from stress, Hermione really needed to vent.

Malfoy appeared through the door again, this time with a tray of tea and biscuits.

Hermione thanked him when he set the tray down, then she stood and poured out the tea while he levitated a few more logs onto the fire.

"So tell me something."

"Yes?"

"I thought you owned a copy of Hogwarts, A History?"

"I did," she replied sheepishly. "Long story short- I'd been eating a tuna sandwich and some of the tuna slipped out onto the book. And unfortunately when I got up to fetch a cloth, well, Crookshanks found it. Crook is very obsessed with fish." She took a sip of tea. "And I'm sure you can see where I'm going with this."

"He tore the book up?"

"It looked like it had been shredded by a cheese grater."

Malfoy chuckled. "So did you buy it the other day?"

"Afraid not. The queue contained a total of twenty eight people, all who seemed to be glued in place." She bit into one of the cookies- ginger, she noted. "So I'm currently lacking it in my bookshelves."

They chatted for half an hour about random things, such as Madam Malkin's retirement and the current bat infestation in Knockturn Alley.

When the clock chimed ten times Hermione decided to call it a night.

As she gathered up her various essentials and finished off her tea, Malfoy went into the backroom.

Hermione walked to the front door and shrugged on her coat. As she opened the door and stepped out into the cold, winter air, Malfoy reappeared through the door.

"Granger!" he called.

She spun around, about to bid him goodnight, when he pushed a parcel into her hands.

"Merry Christmas," he said. Then he shut the door and went back to the storeroom.

Hermione stared down at the block in her hands. Her curiosity overtook her so she pulled off the ribbons and unwrapped the brown paper.

A brand new version of Hogwarts, A History stared back up at her. Hermione bundled it up into its wrappings again and hugged it to her.

"Merry Christmas," she whispered to the closed door.

"Hermione!"

She sat up, pushing her hair out her face.

"Harry? Is that you?"

"Oh Merlin, Hermione, I am so sorry!"

Hermione's gaze flickered to the clock on her nightstand. "For what? The argument or the phone call at two in the morning?"

Harry mumbled something inaudible, probably directed at Ginny, before he spoke again. "For both. Especially the former option."

"It's alright, Harry," she replied. It's also two bloody A.M., Harry.

"No its not," he sighed. "We were both mad at Ron for not showing up. And I took my frustration out on you, and I shouldn't have. I'm so sorry," he repeated, sheepishly.

Hermione smiled. Well, that awkward bit of life had ended rather suddenly.

"It's alright, I told you. No harm done, Harry, I'm sorry too."

"Did I ruin your Christmas terribly?"

Hermione lay back against the pillows. "Quite on the contrary, actually."

"Oh?" Harry's voice hinted at curiosity. "Who'd you spend it with?"

"The new librarian at Flourish and Blotts."

"What's her name?"

"He," Hermione corrected.

"Oh? Well then what's _his _name?"

She bit her lip and pondered whether it was such a good idea to tell Harry. Whereas she wasn't one to hold a grudge, Harry was quite opposite, and Hermione knew if he found out that she'd consensually spent hours alone with Malfoy it would only lead to another argument.

"Harry its late- or early- I'll owl you. Give Ginny my love." Then she put the phone down quickly and pulled the duvet up around her.

She'd visited Flourish and Blotts the next day only to find that Draco was nowhere in sight.

So Hermione patiently waited for three days until the bookshop's 'closed' sign was finally turned over.

In her lunch break her colleagues were extremely shocked to see her actually leave the building. Hermione had a few minutes to waste, so she did a bit of shopping- mostly for a new evening dress since Crookshanks had practically torn her only remaining one in half- then she headed to Flourish and Blotts with a racing heart.

Her eyes caught the unmistakably platinum topped head in amongst the bookcases, obviously restocking the shelves. She could smell the strong, fresh fragrance of the new parchment.

She stood behind him and cleared her throat. He craned his neck around, saw who it was, and she could swear his lips perked.

"Hello, Granger," he greeted.

Hermione smoothed down her skirt. "Hi. I wanted to say thank you, for the book, that I," she stated.

"It was lying around the stockroom gathering mould. I thought you might have a better use for it," he replied, levitating a pile of books into an empty space on the shelf above them.

"Oh. Well," she stared bashfully at the light scuff marks on her shoes, "I suppose I should get back to the ole' ball and chain."

Malfoy nodded. "See you around, Granger."

Hermione turned around and started for the door. Well that had been a bust. Where was her Gryffindor courage? Had it flown out the door along with her career goals? Merlin, it was only _Malfoy, _not the Minister of bloody Magic.

Hermione spun on her heel and paced back towards him.

"I was wondering, that is I was hoping you might want to have dinner with me. I mean, I want to make you dinner as a sort of thank you. I'm sure you have employed chefs who could do a better job than me. Actually a rock could do a better job than me. Actually maybe I should just pay for dinner at The Leaky Cauldron and avoid poisoning you-"

"What's the address?"

"What?" she stuttered.

"The address of your apartment, Granger." She stared at him blankly. "So that I know which bell to ring?" he explained "Or must I put a tracing charm on you as well?"  
"Oh right, no, just hold on a minute." She pulled her heavy bag up into the crook of her arm and started to dig through it until she produced a notebook and a quill. She quickly jotted down her apartment number, ripped off the piece of paper and handed it to Malfoy with shaking fingers.

"Is seven alright?"

"Seven is fine." He folded the paper and stuck it in his trouser pocket.

"Great, fantastic. I'll see you then." Now get out Hermione, before you go into anaphylactic shock.

He raised his hand in a wave and she mirrored him before making her way into the busy street.

Hermione was at odds with herself. First of all she had to get on her hands and knees and beg that lousy snot Rita Skeeter to allow her the night off early. Then she had to rush through grocery shopping so she could get home and cook.

And to make matters worse she had nothing to wear. After all, what did one wear to a Thank-You Supper?

So there she sat at her dressing table, dragging her comb through her frizzy curls, clothed in a pink wool sweater and grey slacks, with three burnt fingers already blistering.

Hermione slid off the chair when the sudden alert beeping of the oven timer went off.

"This is, by far, the worst idea you've ever had, Hermione!" she rattled off, pulling the strange looking beef casserole out and thumping it onto the kitchen counter.

Well, she thought, ignoring the weird smell coming out of it, it didn't seem all that burnt.

Then, of course, she managed to forget the garlic bread. And the rice on the stove. And she forgot to feed Crook, who had found the casserole and dug his way under the food net.

Finally, after two hours, Hermione flung herself onto the couch and cried. They had nothing to eat except burnt food, nothing to drink except tea and water, thanks to her clumsy handling of the wine bottle, and she looked ridiculous. Sweat pouring down her forehead, sweater all askew, she didn't even want to think about her hair.

When the doorbell rang Hermione was positive the night couldn't get worse. However, just her dumb luck, it did.

"You're early." She unchained the door and pulled it open.

"You were expecting me?"

Fuck.

"Ron!" she squealed.

A ginger eyebrow rose.

"Uh- ehm," Hermione cleared her throat, coughed, successfully brought her voice down an octave, and tried again.

"Hello, Ronald."

"Hello Hermione!" He preened, "I don't think that greeting quite lived up to your pitch, though."

"Well, Ron, since we're on the subject of 'pitching'," she quipped, "perhaps you're here to explain exactly how you did _not _'pitch' up to the Burrow on Christmas. And how the entire household had to sit in melancholic silence, waiting for the jagged, dirty, albeit important piece of the Weasley puzzle to arrive, which he never did."

Ron shrugged his shoulders and grinned sheepishly, "Bloody hell, Hermione. The woman wanted to go to Paris. What was I supposed to do?"

"By woman I assume you're referring to the leech."

"Hermione…" he warned.

"Of course you couldn't have said no to her," Hermione sneered, "I have no doubt she would have swallowed you whole."

Ron kicked the door closed with his muddy boot and Hermione grimaced.

"I see the aristocratic brood mother you refer to as Pansy hasn't improved your manners."

"You know," he slid onto her couch and propped his feet up on her coffee table. Hermione's fists clenched behind her back, "all these petty jabs at Pansy aren't very dignified of you."

"Well excuse me for being disgruntled that my best friend didn't have the bloody backbone to tell his chit of a girlfriend that he wanted to see his family," she snapped, "who he's hardly seen in five months."

"I've been busy, Hermione, Merlin!" He flipped through a Muggle magazine while she fumed in the corner, debating which hex would be adequate enough.

It pissed her off, really it did. It's not that she wanted Ron to grow old, alone and single. But Pansy? Of all the women in the world, he had to go and choose the one she loathed the most. Well, no, Hermione thought, that would be Bellatrix. Bellatrix and Ron. Dating. She laid a hand on her queasy stomach.

"You're turning green," Ron stated.

"No shit, Sherlock."

"Who's Sherlock? And what's with the volatile insults?"  
Need to bang head against wall, she thought irritably. But whose? Hers or Ron's?

"What is that bloody stench? It smells like charcoaled meat."

Ron's head. Definitely Ron's head.

"It's Crookshank's dinner, actually." Hermione went to the sink and turned on the faucet.

Ron poked his head over the couch and looked at the chewed up casserole and the blackened pots. Then he started laughing. Hard.

"You can't even cook cat food, 'Mione!" He guffawed.

"Well we don't _all_ have servants who cater to our every need!" she fumed, spritzing a squirt of dishwasher into the sink water.

"Paris was really beautiful, you know." He sighed, dreamily.

"You're just saying that because it's hot there this time of year and Parkinson was probably waltzing around in a polka-dot bikini."

"Don't be stupid," Ron grinned, "it was green lace."

"Oh? No fishnet stockings, then?" Hermione shot back, "Perhaps an idiotically high heeled stiletto?"

"You really need to get out more, Hermione. This jealousy can't be good for your social life."

"I happen to be preparing for a date." Well, it wasn't exactly the truth, she thought, but sometimes a little exaggeration was necessary.

"You're going to wear that?" he questioned, eyeing the sweater with repulsion.

Hermione smoothed a hand over the knit, self-consciously. "Well, what's wrong with it?"  
"Nothing," he replied, then shortly added, "if you're trying to attract mould."

Hermione gasped in agitation. There was absolutely nothing wrong with her sweater. So what if it was old-ish; and a bit musty; and faded out. It was Hermione's favourite top and she was damned not going to let Ron insult it.

"He is not mould," another lie, "and I happen to attract him very much." And yet again, lie… She was really on a roll tonight.

"You realize he probably wants you for your money."

What, all five galleons of it?

"Well it's either that, or he needs his homework done. If that's the case, you really have scraped the bottom of the barrel this time, Hermione."

"Not that it's any of your business, Ronald; he happens to be filthy rich- richer than your darling Parkinson- and is at the head of a very successful company." Lie, lie, lie…

"Which company?"

"What?"

Ron smirked behind a magazine, "Which company is he head of?"

Bugger it all.

"Look at the time!" She glanced at the wall clock, and then rushed to open the door, "It's getting really late, Ron."  
"That's my cue to piss off then?"

"It would be nice, yes."

Ron shuffled to the door and gave her an unsuccessful hug. Hermione wrinkled her nose but eventually gave in and wrapped an arm around his neck. He was still her best friend, after all.

"I'll see you this weekend," Hermione looked at him hopefully. "Right?"

"You know mum would kill me if I didn't show up again."

She smiled and unlatched the door, "I'll see you soon, then."

"Have fun now, Hermione." He cooed, slipping on his jacket.

She rolled her eyes and pulled the door open.

"Hello Weasley."

Ron and Hermione's heads shot to the doorway, where a very blond, very casual, very nonchalant Draco Malfoy stood.

"Wha-Hermi-Why is he-" Ron couldn't get a single word out properly, and she would have laughed at the sight of him wringing his hands and pointing unashamedly at her guest, if it wasn't for the fact she was embarrassed beyond belief.

Malfoy grinned, sardonically. "Better pick up your jaw, Weasley, it looks like it's about to scrape the Earth's core."


End file.
